


Headhunters

by Liara_90



Category: LE CARRE John - Works, Original Work
Genre: Cricket, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Gen, One Shot, POV Third Person, Spies & Secret Agents, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, Written for a Class
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-18 17:51:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16123670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liara_90/pseuds/Liara_90
Summary: There are some jobs where you really don’t want to make a name for yourself.Originally written for a creative writing class, attempting to emulate the style of John le Carré’s spy stories.





	Headhunters

**Author's Note:**

> This work was [posted on Tumblr](http://pvoberstein.tumblr.com/post/166799796933/headhunters-an-original-short-story) on October 25, 2017, based on a cleaned-up version of what I had submitted to my class. I figured I might as well share it here. Please let me know if you might be interested in seeing more in this vein.

* * *

Close to fifty thousand pairs of eyes followed the batsman as he made his way to the crease, the harsh white rays of the floodlights evaporating even a ghost of a shadow. A million more eyes watched on televisions across the continent as he raised a bat of white willow, gloved fingers strumming over the handle in his only expression of stress.

A nation held its breath as a ball the color of blood soared through the air, hitting the bat with a resounding _crack_ that echoed from the Himalayas to Serendip. Every eye in the stadium swivelled to follow the celestial arc of the cork ball, every head craned to see where it fell.

All but one.

From her perch in the nosebleeds, Natasha Yang depressed the shutter button of her camera, holding her breath as the device began _clicking_ at a machine-gun pace. Exhaling softly, her left hand twisted clockwise by a matter of degrees, the viewfinder blurring and focusing as the telescopic lens spun softly on its mount.

Had anyone been looking her way (and she sincerely hoped nobody was) it would have looked like she was focusing on the pitch, tracking the players as they whipped between the wickets. Only someone seated directly behind her could have possibly noticed that her pictures weren’t _quite_ of the pitch.

“It’s funny… I didn’t take you for a cricket enthusiast,” came a voice from directly behind her.

Somehow - despite all the nerves, all the tension and adrenaline - she didn’t jump at his voice; that uneasy balance of rural Cantonese and Etonian English. Even in a stadium of thousands she had no difficulty picking that voice out, no delusions that it was addressing anyone but her.

“I’m actually quite the fan,” Natasha lied, rotely. “After the half-century on Day Two I’m simply fascinated to see if the three-hundred run deficit can be made up by Khan’s fast-bowling.”

“Yes, BBC Sport told me the same thing,” Chang replied, entirely uninterested in her polite little lies. With a short and graceless hop, Chang vaulted himself into the spot beside her, the seat _squeaking_ in protest as he deposited himself into it.

Natasha watched him only peripherally, her eyes still narrowed on the viewfinder. On the opposite end of the field, in seats that cost a thousand times more than her own, two men who shouldn’t have been in the same _country_ were chatting amicably in an air-conditioned booth. She’d sell her soul for the chance to eavesdrop, but with Mephistopheles nowhere to be found, she was stuck snapping stills.

“I didn’t realize you’d left China. Is this business or pleasure?” Her hands cradled the camera, concealing the LCD display as best they could.

“It could be both.” He made a show of reaching into his suit jacket (how he wasn’t melting in it was beyond Nat) withdrawing a cheap cigarette and an expensive lighter, sweaty fingers slipping on the roller. “There are opportunities my business cannot grasp from Shenzhen.”

“And what’s that business again, Mr. Chang?” she asked, raising her voice slightly to be heard over the growing roar of the crowd.

“Multi-national distributed logistics consulting services,” he replied, in the same tone of voice with which she had professed her love of cricket. And then he shrugged, as if either of them knew what that meant. “Do you mind if I watch this over with you?”

Instinctively, she wanted to scream _no_. Chang was an enigma, but an enigma that had the habit of always being in the right place in the right time. And in her line of work, coincidences were things to be feared.

 _But_ (there was always a _but_ ) his presence had some plusses. As an unaccompanied Chinese woman, she’d stood out like a sore thumb from the moment she’d cleared Customs. Once she’d entered the stadium, there’d been no end to the sideways glances, to leery and lusting looks. As much as she hated it, they drew less attention together, and Nat treated attention and plutonium as equally hazardous to her health.

“You are worried about the deal?” Chang asked, having interpreted her silence as acquiescence. He inhaled from his cigarette, the smell cloying and comforting.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Natasha murmured, fiddling with the camera’s settings as she spoke.

“My company is as well.” Chang replied.

_Click-click-click-click-click._

Chang made a polite show of turning to look at the scoreboard as she snapped the next sequence, averting his gaze as if she was changing beside him.

“The deal introduces a great amount of _risk_ to my business,” he continued, inhaling from his cigarette. “I want to be prepared.” Natasha’s expression was impassive, though her total-stillness betrayed the attention she was paying. “I would be interested in hiring you as a… _consultant_. You are a regional expert, my company would be more than willing to pay-”

“ _Chang!_ ” She said his name a little too loudly, like a curse, drawing a gaggle of curious gazes from within earshot. “ _Chang_ ,” she repeated, dropping her voice to a low growl. She switched effortlessly to Cantonese, the language they’d both been raised speaking, in rain-drenched Richmond and smog-choked Shenzhen. “If you think your handlers at the Ministry of State Security are going to turn me into a double-agent with-”

Chang flashed his palms, trying to either silence or surrender to her. “Please! You will ruin my good name with that. I do not work for the MSS-”

“-You just know people who do.” She finished Chang’s disavowal for him. She rested one foot on the seat in front of her, pushing angrily against it.

"It is very bad for business to work for the Chinese government here,” Chang said, speaking slowly, as if explaining astrophysics to a child. “Almost as bad as what is happening in the booth.” He gestured diffidently in the direction of Natasha’s photography subjects.

Natasha bit her lip. He wasn’t _wrong_ , infuriatingly, even if the increasing agitation of her cables and memos was doing little to persuade the Powers That Be.

“It’s being handled,” she finally replied, with forced curtness.

“I have no doubt that it is,” Chang answered, in that _faux_ sincere tone that meant the exact opposite. He tilted his head, as if considering a counter-argument within it. “They do have _your_ assistance, however, so perhaps there is hope.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Chang,” Natasha replied.

He exhaled a puff of smoke, tilting his head back as if appealing to the heavens. “I am simply a _liètóu zhě_.” He frowned. “What is the word for it, in English?”

“ _Headhunter_ ,” Natasha replied, reverting to her (other) native tongue to humor him.

“Ahh yes. So morbid,” he mused.

They spent the next several minutes in silence, pretending to watch the stumps and the bails and the ball. All the while Natasha’s camera clicked and whirred, the photographer cursing that _this_ was the best she could do.

“I need to get some food,” Chang finally said, as a dispute with the umpire provided a lull. “Have you eaten here before?”

“At stadium prices? I’ll go hungry, thanks.”

“Ahh, such a shame,” he said, making a show of standing up and stretching. “Do you even have a _per diem_? Or are your bosses cutting corners there, too?”

Natasha raised an eyebrow at the insinuation he’d slipped in there. “Ten American dollars a meal, more or less.”

“More _less_ than _more_ ,” Chang replied, a self-amused smile at his own bit of wordplay. “I hope they are making the most of their savings.”

“I’m sure they are.”

There was a moment’s awkward silence, during which Chang tossed his cigarette butt to the ground, stamping it out with a shoe of worn leather.

“Will you be here when I get back?” There was earnest interest in his eyes, a curiosity that had nothing to do with his job.

“Maybe. I have to make some calls.”

Chang nodded, understandingly. Without another word he procured a badly-creased business card from his jacket, carefully setting it down on the armrest between them as if it were dynamite. “If you would like to discuss what our consultants are paid…”

The angry look in her eyes telegraphed to Chang that he’d _maybe_ overstayed his welcome. With a mock bow he showed himself out, vanishing in an instant into the bowels of the stadium.

Through her viewfinder, Natasha saw movement. Papers being collected, handshakes being shook. Bodyguards and busybodies bustling about.

Muttering curses, Natasha hurried to disassemble her camera, popping the telescopic lens off and into a faded rucksack. She doubted she’d be able to catch them leaving, but she had to at least try. Nobody _else_ was going to.

Wiping sweat from her brow, Natasha began jogging towards the stadium exit. She made it halfway to the parking lot before she realized she’d stuffed Chang’s card in her pocket.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for your readership! Please feel free to leave any comments, thoughts, feedback, in the comments. Criticism is the only way I’ll ever get better as a writer. If you’d like to know more about me/my writing, feel free to hit up my [About](http://www.pvoberstein.tumblr.com/about) page. I’m also active on both [reddit](https://www.reddit.com/user/pvoberstein/overview) and [Tumblr](http://www.pvoberstein.tumblr.com/), and can be reached through any of the means on my [Contact](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liara_90/profile) page.


End file.
